


cracked mirror.

by Sugar_and_Salt



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, In a way, M/M, Romance, alternative universe, dubcon, it's complicated - Freeform, shouldn't be upsetting really, themes of stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-06-25 05:45:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19739494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugar_and_Salt/pseuds/Sugar_and_Salt
Summary: Something wasn't right with the world around Chanyeol. People who used to hate him were inviting him to dinner, while others suddenly started to avoid him. Something was wrong with them. Or maybe with him.





	cracked mirror.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cottonseve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonseve/gifts).



> to my prompter: hello!!  
> I hope you like this little gift <3  
> I really love Wendy, so including her was fun ;;  
> thanks for your fun prompts!

Chanyeol scrutinized his face in his full length mirror.

There was a tiny blemish on his chin but other than that, he looked fine. His hand flew up to fix a few unruly strands of his freshly dyed, auburn hair.

It wasn't that he was particularly keen on impressing the girl that was currently in the elevator leading up to his apartment. It was just that freshly dyed hair was always nice to look at.

It was a widely known joke that Chanyeol was vain, and Chanyeol liked to pretend that it was only that - a joke.

His fingers ran down the slightly knobby wood of the mirror's frame, feeling the ridges of old wood surfacing from under what must be a decade old varnish. Back before his friends had picked the mirror off a flea market as a joke, back when it had been made, it had probably been a much more impressive sight than it was now. Though if Chanyeol was being honest, it had probably never been the piece of art the creator must have envisioned; the wood was too flawed, the color dusty and ashen, and the carving not all that elegant. It looked odd, standing next to the glazed black and white mass produced furniture, and somehow managed to look even cheaper than them.

When he heard dull footsteps in the hallway, Chanyeol tore his gaze away from the mirror to open the door, sparing his co-worker the trouble of reading the room numbers. To his left, his neighbour was just entering his flat - it must have been him Chanyeol had heard, then - and he shot him a questioning, almost scornful look. That was not an unusual look on Jongdae though, at least not when he was looking Chanyeol's way. It was moments like these when Chanyeol regretted living in an apartment complex rented by his company. Because when Seungwan exited the elevator, lightly walking down the corridor in her flowy skirt and with her wedge heels digging into the carpet, Jongdae looked even less impressed. Chanyeol felt the urge to tell the shortie to shut up, but he hadn't exactly said anything, just keeping on this unbearably haughty, arrogant expression as he slipped inside his apartment and firmly closed the door. Fucking Kim Jongdae.

"Hi, here I am," Seungwan announced, sounding like she usually did - sweet, friendly, and slightly out of breath. Whether it was due to her hurrying wherever she went or being nervous, Chanyeol didn't know. She was a nice person, so it really didn't matter.

They'd planned to exchange work-related information and think about a project they had been assigned, away from prying eyes and ears. There was absolutely no need for Seungwan to walk around his bedroom, commenting on the photos on his desk or the dusty guitar on his wall. She was just persistent like that. Chanyeol had been vocal about his lack of interest before, but Seungwan hadn't reached the position she was in now by giving up easily. As things were now, Chanyeol could tolerate the subtle looks, the flash of leg and small smiles - as far as he was concerned, she was the only one getting hurt, and she'd probably grow tired of him soon, anyway.

"This mirror looks really old," she hummed, righting her wavy hair. Chanyeol didn't move from the doorway, his arms still crossed as he shrugged.

"It was a birthday present from my university friends."

"What an unusual present," she quipped, running her much smaller fingers over the frame just like Chanyeol had done earlier.

"They said that I might stop looking like a hobo when I got a mirror that allowed me to see my outfit from top to bottom," Chanyeol explained.

Seungwan chuckled.

"I guess it worked."

"Dressing for work isn't exactly hard," Chanyeol dismissed her, leaning his head back against the doorframe in faint boredom. With a small noise getting cut in her throat, Seungwan reached around to self-consciously tug at the hem of her skirt.

"Stop staring," she said, and there was a nervous giggle underlining her words, but Chanyeol only blinked, looking up and into the corner of the door frame.

"I'm not," he said slowly, and Seungwan huffed.

"You're staring at me right now. I'm in front of a mirror, remember? You creep!"

She was still laughing it off, whirling around to walk past him with a shy smile, announcing how they had work to do. It was lost on Chanyeol, whose gaze was glued to the mirror. He couldn't keep her waiting though, so he closed the door to his bedroom and took a seat in the living room, staring at numbers and graphs, trying to ignore the wariness tingling in the back of his head.

Only when Seungwan left much later, did Chanyeol enter his bedroom to stand before the mirror, just like Seungwan had. He even bent down to get on her eye level.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see the door frame reflected in the mirror.

There was not really any option but to shrug it off - she must have played him, and assumed that he'd been too scatterbrained to laugh along.

That night, Chanyeol went to bed with his back turned to his room. In the semi-darkness, the lump of blankets in the mirror twitched, moved ever so slightly, until the dark silhouette had sat up.

Chanyeol didn't feel the eyes on him.  
  


* * *

The next day was quite peculiar. It started out like any other day, but when he arrived at the office, a stack of papers was waiting on his desk already. They were the results of his and Seungwan's previous efforts, though they looked slightly different. Usually, Seungwan would at least leave a note, more often than not scribbling cute faces or hearts on them, but there was nothing of the sort. Chanyeol shrugged it off and scanned the pages, taking a few notes here and there. They seemed somewhat outdated, and after a few pages, Chanyeol gave up. With the stapled pages in hand, he made his way to the elevator, paying a visit to the office three floors above him, the one Seungwan was a part of. He received a few funny looks, but chalked it up to people being their usual, nosy selves.

Seungwan was indeed at her desk, wavy hair cascading down her back, the loose, natural style already radiating the warmth she was known for on this floor. The way she looked up at him was anything but warm though.

"What is it?" She asked almost warily, and Chanyeol was confused.

"I was just gonna ask about these," he began, holding up the stack of paper. Seungwan, who probably felt guilty about the half-hearted effort, only shot a fleeting look towards the printed notes.

"If you don't like them, you can always change them," she said almost defensively, and everything about this exchange was so unlike her, that even Chanyeol couldn't help but worry.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, lowering his voice and leaning down just a little, so she wouldn't risk being heard by those around her. She actually inched away from him, shoulders hunched up a little.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied equally quietly, with a strained smile that left as quickly as it had come. "Is that all?"

People were looking at them, looking at Chanyeol, and suddenly, he just felt extremely unwelcome and uncomfortable.

"I guess," he said slowly, straightening up again, ignoring the looks of the men and women staring at him as if they were waiting for him to pounce Seungwan.

"I'll... go over them once more and then get back to you," he muttered, and then left with a stiff smile, trying his hardest not to make it look like he was fleeing the room, though it certainly felt like it.

Well, even Seungwan could have a bad day, it seemed. Still, he couldn't help but wonder whether he had upset her somehow.

He entered the elevator and pressed the number for his floor, watching the doors close, when someone slipped inside at the last second. It was Jongdae, whose momentum made him tumble against the wall, instinctively reaching out to steady himself on Chanyeol's arm.

Chanyeol would never admit to flinching out of anything other than annoyance.

"Whoops," Jongdae muttered, shooting him a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Had Jongdae smiled at him before? Probably, at some point. It would have been around the time they had both entered the company as newbies and had yet to build up the mutual scorn that defined them today. That had been a few years ago though, which is why Chanyeol couldn't remember the last time Jongdae's smile had lacked any contempt or sarcasm. He was just so utterly stumped by the strangely airy reaction that he must have looked like a complete fool.

Jongdae did _not_ smile at him like that. He simply didn't.

"Don't look at me like that - it's not like you're the only one in this building," Jongdae commented with a good-natured eye roll. "You're not usually one to daydream, are you?"

"Huh?" Chanyeol asked dumbly, staring at the shiny little dog tag on Jongdae's signature necklace, simply because he didn't know where else to look. Even with an actual dress code, nobody would have minded the elegant accessory. A part of him hoped that the situation would pass him by, just like that, but Jongdae remained very much real and interested in conversing with him.

"You don't usually daydream," Jongdae repeated, more slowly and overly enunciated, as he leaned into his vision. "Are you alright?"

The motion made the dog tag dangle in the air, blinking in the light, and Chanyeol's gaze kept flitting down to it, subconsciously trying to make out shapes reflected on its surface. It seemed much less intimidating than facing the glimpse of concern in Jongdae's eyes, and much less distracting than the slivers of his collarbones.

"What? Sure. I'm fine," he muttered. "Since when did you care?"

It sounded more wary than snarky, really, but instead of taunting the weakness in his voice, Jongdae only looked mildly unhappy. Maybe even hurt.

"When have I not?" he asked, and gave him a pat on the back. "Stop being a dramatic kid, Yeol. Let's grab a bite to eat later and you can tell me what ruined your day."

Chanyeol was bewildered, to say the least. Surely, this must be a prank. Any moment now, Jongdae would burst out laughing, calling him out on actually falling for it. Chanyeol was unwilling to give him anything to work with though, so he simply stayed quiet. He much preferred the other's straight-forward method of mockery over this, and his day had indeed been bad enough already.

He only nodded goodbye, and after work, he went straight home, ignoring the other's invitation for dinner. If Jongdae had invited him for dinner on any other day, Chanyeol would have shown up out of sheer spite and morbid curiosity - and because there was no way he would back down on a potential challenge.

And while bickering back and forth, trying to get a rise out of each other, he could have spent the evening enjoying Jongdae's smooth, cat-like features, pretty lashes, and curled lips in a light more tasteful than the one provided by the shitty lamps lighting their apartment hallways. It would have been nice, a quiet voice bemoaned somewhere, in a forgotten and dusty corner of his mind.

But no, Chanyeol really wasn't in the mood for any of this. He just wanted to go home, be alone, and go to bed early, ruminating over what he might have done to upset Seungwan. Or what in the world had gotten into Jongdae.

After a lonely dinner under the dim kitchen lamp, Chanyeol took a shower, and the hot water did a commendable job of cleansing him of the metaphorical crust and dirt the day had left on his mind.

The bathroom mirror was fogged up entirely, but the one in Chanyeol's room told him that he looked much more awake than he felt. More calm and collected, too.

Chanyeol wondered at what point he had lost control over the faces he put up. The smile he shot himself was thin and weird, so he just gave up and crawled under the covers, tired of facing himself.

The next day, everything was back to normal - Seungwan shot him a text message before work, including sweet stickers, and Jongdae didn't spare him a second look whenever he was in the same room as Chanyeol was. Chanyeol thought of confronting him about the stunt he had pulled the other day, but then chose not to. Maybe Jongdae had had a really weird day. Bashing him for a slip up like that wouldn't feel good.

They ended up meeting in the elevator up to their apartment hours later - a rather rare occasion, considering that they rarely left work around the same time, and Jongdae drove home on his motorcycle whereas Chanyeol usually took his bike.

It seemed like Jongdae was determined to ignore his existence, not even bothering with a taunt, but when the doors opened, he blocked the way and turned to Chanyeol with a confrontational expression.

"Just a heads up, if you don't turn down the flirting, I swear to god, I'll end you. It's quite disgusting."

"What are you even talking about?" Chanyeol demanded, confused more so than ticked off.

"Save it. Believe it or not, I actually have windows and I refuse to close them just so I get a break from your obnoxious voice," Jongdae drawled out, one hand on the elevator door, keeping it open. "Hearing you string her along is disgusting. Make up your fucking mind."

Now Chanyeol felt a tick of annoyance seep through the confusion, bleeding out in a blue, cold type of anger.

"Who says I'm stringing her along?" he countered - not because he was interested in Seungwan, but because this was none of Jongdae's business and he didn't like the other's attitude.

Jongdae huffed in disbelief, bitterness taking over in a flash.

"Oh, you aren’t? _I see_."

It was a completely meaningless statement, and yet loaded with so many emotions that Chanyeol shrank in on himself subconsciously. By then, Jongdae had already turned on his heels, slamming his fingers on a random number. Chanyeol only registered it when the elevator doors closed, ascending to the highest floor. By the time he reached his door, Jongdae had already slipped inside his apartment, and Chanyeol glared at his door as if he could see right through it.

Jongdae was in no position to judge him or his relationships. He didn't owe him anything.

There had never been anything between them and there never would be - and if he recalled it correctly, Jongdae had been the one to antagonize him in the first place. Him making a fuss and acting all righteous to cover up whatever selfish reasons he had only made Chanyeol more mad.

Even so, he couldn't help remembering how strange Jongdae had been the previous day.

Had he been getting over whatever it was he hated so much about Chanyeol, only to hear about him flirting with Seungwan - which, by the way, he hadn't even done?

Chanyeol groaned. Nothing made sense anymore.

He slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning. At some point, he crawled out of bed to get a glass of water, and with the faint moonlight shining in through his mostly shut blinds, it almost looked as if someone was standing in the mirror, despite Chanyeol sitting on his bed. The shock was brief and fleeting - sleepy minds tended to create weird and terrifying patterns, and upon a second, less blurry look, there was nothing but his own bedhead staring back at him.

With a sigh, Chanyeol curled up under his blankets and closed his eyes.

He didn't feel all that good, and sleeping seemed like the only reprieve he'd be getting any time soon.  
  


* * *

Things didn't get better after that. Jongdae was shockingly friendly the next day, and when Chanyeol lashed out at him, he only reacted with the same, good-natured eye roll, and let him be. Within the next few days, Seungwan seemed to jump between wanting to sit on his lap and calling her male co-workers to remove him from the room she was in.

Chanyeol wanted to accuse them all of being insane but they all acted so naturally that _he_ felt like the crazy one. Was he losing his mind? He should see a doctor, but what was he going to say? Tell them that his perception of reality was completely messed up and moody like a flickering light bulb?

He had no idea what to do. Whenever he woke up, he'd try to read the subtle hints, and just run with them - for the time being, he didn't want to create more trouble and stay inconspicuous. Just until he could get to seeing a doctor. Or figure it out himself. Something was very wrong with him, that much was certain.

If he was being very honest with himself, he was more concerned about Jongdae than Seungwan. With Seungwan, he did feel guilty and worried that he might have done anything to upset her, but his thoughts kept returning to Jongdae. He was going from overly friendly to downright scalding - as if someone had spliced up the Jongdae he had known and bickered with, separating his character into two extremes. And... Chanyeol didn't want Jongdae to hate him. The way he smiled at him on other days, the way he chuckled or gave him casual pats on the shoulder or back, was oddly captivating. Mesmerizing. Tempting, even. It wasn't a sinful kind of temptation, which Chanyeol could have handled easier. It felt more like a pleasant scratch, and the way Jongdae snarled at him on other days would be the salt water running over it. The confusion was eating away at him, but when he attempted to talk to Jongdae one Friday evening after everyone had left the office, he got ignored.

Not even hissed at or insulted. Jongdae just pretended he was air, keeping his head low as he left, with his bag and documents under his arm.

Chanyeol had already figured that it was one of _those_ days, but this was a little too much, and he needed answers, so he decided to follow him.

"I just wanted to know what I've done wrong now," he called after him, determined to catch him before he could reach the elevator, but Jongdae took a surprising turn, slipping through a door and taking the staircase.

"You can't just be all smiley one day and then ignore my existence the next," Chanyeol complained, his loud voice echoing down the staircase as he tried to follow him.

"As if I'd ever fucking smiled at you," Jongdae snapped back, curt but clearly pissed. Chanyeol followed him into the underground parking lot, trying not to let his own anger win.

"Are you kidding? Wait-"

But Jongdae did not wait and briskly walked towards his motorcycle, carelessly stuffing his bag and the loose papers in the small trunk on the back, his head still lowered. He wasn't usually like that. Jongdae did not lower his head - he held it high, facing Chanyeol head on and never backing down first. He did not cower or shirk away.

Now, though, he had already pulled his bike around, about to swing his leg over it when Chanyeol grabbed his arm.

"What's wrong with you?" Chanyeol burst out, and Jongdae ripped himself free, startled and still pissed.

"With _me_? Nothing," he snapped. "What do you want from me? Attention?"

"No, but you can't expect me not to ask, if you can't make up your mind on whether you hate me or not-"

"I _do_ hate you," Jongdae cut him off, and it sounded like he really meant it. For some reason, that stung.

"Happy?" he added impatiently, and Chanyeol swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"Then why did you treat me to dinner yesterday and talk to me like you actually care? Why even bother?" he asked, hoping to sound more provocative than miserable.

Jongdae looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Have dinner with you? When? Yesterday, when you were screwing that girl for what felt like hours on end, with your windows wide open?"

"What?" Chanyeol all but squeaked, his usually deep voice cracking. Jongdae seemed to lose his composure now that he'd said it, voice rising in volume and growing shaky.

"You know my bedroom is right behind your fucking wall, but _no_ , let's open the windows for added effect - don't worry, I could hear you just fine! I got the fucking point, okay? Just-"

He drew in a sharp breath, brimming with frustration to the point where Chanyeol feared he might punch him any moment.

He didn't.

Instead, he made eye contact with him one last time, managing to still look furious and frustrated, but also resigned.

"Just leave me the hell alone, okay? I'm tired of seeing your face."

With this, he put on his helmet and drove away, leaving a shell-shocked Chanyeol behind. Suddenly, the parking lot felt big and empty, while at the same time too small to contain all his emotions. He needed to breathe, to calm down, to make sense of things.

Chanyeol fumbled for his phone, groaning in frustration when he took three tries to unlock it. Frantically, he searched for his and Seungwan's chat.

There were no strange messages, aside from the one Seungwan had sent him the night before, around two in the morning.

_We should meet at my place next time. If you want to..._

Chanyeol had brushed it off as being about work, but now he was starting to doubt himself.

Had he really met up with Seungwan the previous day? Had he actually slept with her?

There was simply no way his memories were all wrong, this was all an elaborate joke-

He held his pulsing head, but nothing changed. No big realization, no one jumping out with a camera, no waking up from a bad dream. Time just ticked by as he stood in the cheaply lit parking lot, hoping his life wouldn't pull the rug out from under his feet as long as he didn't move.

Standing there for the rest of the night was not an option though.

Back in his apartment, he stared into his full length mirror. He didn't know why, but it didn't even feel like he knew the person staring back at him.

"What am I doing?" he whispered to himself, softly knocking his forehead against the glass. Just like that, he stood there, still refusing to accept the reality that he was going insane. Out of the corner of his limited vision, he saw something twitch. The fingers on the glass, his fingers, were perfectly still though. Holding his breath, Chanyeol stared at his hand, waiting for a sign. A sign that he was out of his mind.

They twitched again, he saw it.

It wasn't his fingertips that were pressing against the glass, grip tightening. It was those of his mirror image.

He flinched back from the mirror as if he'd been burnt, and the hand remained on the glass. He could see the white pads of his fingertips, pressing down almost eagerly, and when Chanyeol looked up, he looked into his own face.

A blank face that slowly started to smile, as if it was taunting him.

Chanyeol backed away and into a corner of his room, but the gaze of his mirror image followed him.

Within minutes, Chanyeol had grabbed everything work-related, as well as a bag with fresh clothes.

He slept at a hotel that night, after covering every mirror with a towel.

  


The next day went by normally, at least as far as Chanyeol could tell. He kept his head down, avoiding anything and anyone. He didn't dare look into a mirror, and he didn't dare look for Jongdae. Seungwan shot him a text, but he brushed her off, claiming that he didn't feel good. It wasn't a complete lie, anyway.

After a tedious work day, Chanyeol returned to the hotel and made a few phone calls until he had secured himself an appointment with a doctor. Now he just had to endure nine more weeks. Chanyeol told himself that he could do it, that if he sat still, he would be fine.

When he saw his own reflection on his dark phone screen, he subconsciously flinched away, turning the phone around on the table.

He was going insane. There was no such thing as a hostile mirror reflection, there was no other person taking his place and sleeping with people - it was all in his head. His head was the enemy, and there was nothing to be afraid of. Chanyeol repeatedly chanted these flimsy reassurances inside his head because if he acknowledged the funny look his mirror image had given him, he might crumble.

Sleep didn't come easily to him these days, but sheer exhaustion would usually win over at some point, and when he awoke three days later, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

He knew it because Jongdae was sitting in the hotel lobby, waiting for him.

He knew it because Jongdae was smiling.

"So you're staying here permanently, after all," he sighed, getting to his feet with his leather bag slung over his shoulder. At the sight of panic spreading over Chanyeol's face, his voice turned even softer, worry dusting every syllable.

"Calm down," he hummed carefully. "I'm not here to give you trouble. I was just worried."

 _You're not Jongdae_ , Chanyeol wanted to utter. The real Jongdae would never go out of his way to find him, especially not following their last encounter. But then who was he looking at?

Clearly, others could see him, too. Right?

So what did any of this mean?

"Wanna get some breakfast? You're probably tired of the hotel's buffet already, right?" Jongdae asked, naturally coaxing him along with the signature warmth he seemed to have for anyone but Chanyeol.

And Chanyeol did follow along, too scared to cause a scene, too wary to object, and a little too enchanted by the gentleness that felt like an anchor in the all the chaos he was drowning in.

He told himself that as long as he stayed alert, he might as well try to figure out what his brain wanted him to see - maybe it could help him understand.

"You've been brooding for days," Jongdae stated lightly as he picked up the sandwich he had ordered. "Did Seungwan call the cops on you at last?"

"Why would she do that?" Chanyeol asked, a little shocked, and now Jongdae was shooting him a funny look.

"Look, no offense, but I told you that you've been a little _more_ than just intrusive recently. And after two or so years, even someone as nice as Seungwan might snap. There is such a thing as crossing the line."

When Chanyeol only looked at him in confusion, Jongdae sighed.

"Chanyeol, please. Don't play dumb now. We talked about this. You're starting to make me worry over here. I know rejection sucks, but-"

"Which part exactly crossed the line?" Chanyeol cut him off. It seemed like Jongdae expected him to get mad, so Chanyeol tried to play the part by sounding a little reluctant, as if he knew that he'd done something wrong, but masked it by being aggressive. It worked.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the constant messages did the trick?" Jongdae asked with a grimace. "Dude, if she would hand her phone to the police, you'd be done for. Some of those messages sound really creepy, even if you didn't mean them like that."

Chanyeol rolled his eyes, assuming it would be an appropriate reply.

That evening, he sat down with his phone, going over the message history in his phone. There were indeed countless messages he had sent Seungwan, some of them deleted, none of them ringing a bell. It was like reading a stranger texting her, and the longer he read, the more unsettled he got.

Some messages were innocent enough, asking Seungwan about her day, sending her sweet pictures of cute animals and flowers, but Seungwan had never texted back. The last thing she had sent him had been a simple "Please stop texting me" - and that had been in May, three months ago. Chanyeol couldn't stop scrolling, and the texts were getting darker, concerning almost, begging and demanding her to pay attention to him, before turning light-hearted again as if nothing had ever happened.

These were... creepy. There was no way Chanyeol would have sent something like this.

But maybe the Chanyeol in the mirror had.

He shook his head and locked his phone, blanking out the ugly words and stickers.

He was already lying in bed with the lights turned off, when curiosity struck him.

There was a pretty elaborate chat history he shared with Jongdae, too. Apparently, they'd been friends ever since they started working at the same company. Jongdae cared for him, scolded him for his obsessive behaviour, but ultimately never left his side, apparently.

Having Jongdae care for him was unexpectedly nice and comforting.

Chanyeol wouldn't mind that reality.

With this thought in mind, he dozed off with the phone in his hands, granting him a smidge of familiarity in the otherwise foreign hotel room.

* * *

The next day, Jongdae went back to ignoring him, and Seungwan left a home-made lunch on his desk at work.

Slowly, things began to make sense to Chanyeol. Or maybe he was further spiraling down into insanity. But the life around him seemed too coherent, too sharp and natural to be made up by his mind. And the friendly Jongdae claiming to be his friend for years was _not_ his Jongdae. He simply wasn't. Neither was the terrified, wary girl working three floors above his the Seungwan he knew. And the man who had scared her wasn't him. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

Somehow, the Chanyeol in the mirror had taken his place and seduced the version of Seungwan that was receptive to him.

And he knew exactly what he was doing. Chanyeol had seen his smile in the mirror.

Now Chanyeol was stuck in the mirror's world, the one where a horrible version of his had stalked a girl he desired, and where Jongdae was his best friend.

He sounded insane even to his own ears.

The next day he was back inside the crooked world, and decided to pay his apartment a visit.

There was a dark blanket on the mirror still. With a deep breath, Chanyeol pulled it off, revealing... darkness.

The mirror was clean and smooth, but showed nothing but an inky black color, because of course it did. Chanyeol had covered it from his side.

The mirror him had always been watching, had always moved in sync with him. Until it saw the woman he desired, and broke free.

Chanyeol had to go back.

For Seungwan's safety, but also for himself.

He didn't want to stay trapped in this world that wasn't his, this world that seemed like his but was all wrong in the details. If Jongdae liked him in this world, did that mean that other enemies of his liked him, too? Did it mean that his parents hated him? He didn't want to find out and draw more suspicion to himself. He felt like an intruder, like a misplaced, tiny piece in a perfectly oiled machine, and he just wanted out before he could cause any harm.

There were still days when he woke up in his home world, so not all hope was lost. There had to be a way back. His mirror image was not in perfect control over this.

Figuring that he couldn't do much from his hotel room, Chanyeol packed his bags and moved back to his apartment. As expected, it looked mostly familiar, but there were tiny discrepancies. Magazines he had never bought or photos he couldn't remember taking. This was the mirror world.

Chanyeol placed a red sticky note on the right corner of the mirror frame so he wouldn't have to wake up confused every morning.

The next day, Chanyeol woke up to the sight of the red sticky note, and a friendly text from Jongdae.

He spent a good amount of the day wandering his apartment, staring into the few mirrors he had. None of them showed any faces at all, neither his own face nor that of the mirror image’s. Chanyeol even invited Jongdae over, prodding and subtly finding out that the mirrors worked perfectly fine for him. He would have loved to ask him for help, to ask him to try and contact the Jongdae in his world, but he was scared. Scared for Jongdae, and scared of being discovered by his mirror image. Eventually, he saw a glimpse of him that day, a distorted blur of colors reflected in a spoon. In a fit of bravery, Chanyeol bought a cheap face mirror, placing it on his bedside table.

He woke up in his own, real room the next day, and turned the face mirror face down immediately.

Jongdae was nowhere to be found all day, and Seungwan wouldn't stop texting him, which was a bit of a nuisance, but he felt at home. He would have to gently let Seungwan down soon, and maybe apologize to Jongdae. What for, he wasn't so sure, but he wanted things to be the way they were before.

Yes, Chanyeol had this situation under control. He simply had to stay away from mirrors, especially when he was asleep, and he would be fine. Throughout the day, he avoided looking into any reflective surfaces, which prove to be harder than he thought it would be. He checked his chat history to try and trace back what mirror him had been up to, and politely declined Seungwan's offer to pay him a visit.

Everything went well for three full days, and Chanyeol was starting to calm down and feel safe again... until he awoke to a reset phone, an uncovered mirror and a red sticky note on it.

For a moment, he just laid in bed, staring at the red piece of paper.

He was back in the mirror. Or was he?

There were no unfamiliar photos and magazines, so it should be his own room, but he had definitely not put the tape on the mirror - or uncovered it, for that matter.

He had definitely not reset his phone either.

Apparently, the thing in the mirror had noticed his defiance, and begun to erase all traces anchoring Chanyeol.

Anxiously, he went to work, looking for Seungwan, but she was apparently on a business trip. The people he asked looked annoyed, but Chanyeol couldn't tell whether they were mad over him stalking Seungwan or whether they didn't like seeing them together. The longer he thought about it, the more confused he got, but the signs pointed towards him being home. In his world. The projects he had been working on with Seungwan said as much, and in one of the lowest drawers, there was still the tiny plush teddy bear Seungwan had once gifted him. He was home. Or was he?

There had to be a way to make sure, and it hit Chanyeol out of nowhere.

Jongdae.

Jongdae was his only chance.

He found the other's number somewhere in a notebook on his work desk, and typed up a quick text, fingers shaking slightly.

' _Hey. Wanna grab a bite to eat after work? My treat_.'

Surely, Jongdae would tell him to fuck off, or ignore him altogether. But was radio silence enough of a definite sign?

Chanyeol deleted the text again and forced himself to keep working. When he was finally alone, the sun was setting already, and he scraped up his courage to make a call just as he had entered his apartment, back against the door.

He had to know.

It rang five times before Jongdae picked up.

"Yes?" he asked expectantly, almost impatiently. Obviously, he had Chanyeol's number saved. It alienated him, but there was no turning back now.

"Hi," he said awkwardly. Making himself vulnerable in front of Jongdae, of all people, was rough, but he told himself to just get it over with quickly.

"I just wanted to ask if you wanna meet up for dinner at the noodle restaurant down the street. My treat."

He tried to sound casual, but failed horribly. Instead of a scoff or scorn, he was met with silence.

Three seconds. Six heartbeats.

"Okay," Jongdae said, and ended the call.

Dumbfounded, Chanyeol stared at his phone, feeling the blood rush through his head, nerves tingling.

Jongdae had agreed to meet with him for dinner, which meant that he was in the mirror, after all.

But how was that possible? Did the mirror image interact with him before? It didn't make sense, and the worlds couldn't blur together, right? Were he and his mirror image blurring together, too? Was he going insane for good?

His vision blurred, and Chanyeol felt himself slipping into panic.

He just didn't know where he was anymore.  
He had no idea.

The screen of his phone was dark, reflecting his room, _reflecting_ -

Chanyeol let it fall to the ground, and the screen cracked, splitting one reflection into many, and he felt his breathing coming shorter, trying to squeeze past his pounding heart, fueled by panic. He covered the phone with his hand and then stuffed it inside the nearest bag. A button on the bag blinked in the light, and Chanyeol ripped that one off, too, ignoring the sting on his hand as the needle caught his skin while he stuffed it into the bag as well. Crouching on the ground, his own room suddenly felt so small, so packed with mirrors. Reflections everywhere.

They had to go. All of them.

Every single one.

When someone started pounding against the door in the middle of the night, Chanyeol was fast asleep already, curled up under his sheets with dried tears on his cheeks.

He didn't wake up in time from then on because his phone was bagged and therefore, he had no alarm. It didn't matter because Chanyeol couldn't go to work, anyway. Going to work meant leaving his room and facing people he couldn’t be sure were real. It meant walking past cars and seeing his reflection looking back at him. Leaving the house was dangerous, and Chanyeol was scared.

He had snuck out the previous day, to buy matte spray paints, and had been shaking for hours even long after he returned.

The tab in the kitchen, the shower head and the handles of his cupboards - everything even mildly reflective was sprayed in a matte red now. Chanyeol had meant to grab the clear color, but there was no way he would leave the house again. It didn't matter. No one was going to see it, anyway.

He would be alright now. There were no mirrors around him, and he would be fine. It didn't even matter which world he was in if he never left his room anymore-

Someone knocked on his door, and Chanyeol looked up, staring at the sliver of the door he could see from his position on the bed. The knocking returned, growing in volume, sounding impatient.

"Open the fucking door," a muffled voice said, and Chanyeol perked up.

Jongdae?

The actual, real Jongdae? Was he back in the real world?

Carefully, Chanyeol slipped out of bed, bare feet soundlessly moving over the laminated floor.

Jongdae kept pounding against the door, somehow managing to make it sound even angrier than before.

When Chanyeol opened the door, he was faced with a familiar kind of rage, but also something else flickering over Jongdae's expression. Something unguarded, something Chanyeol couldn't interpret in his hazy state.

"Oh, _now_ you open the door? I knew you were inside there all along," he accused him, openly seething. Yes, this was familiar. This was definitely Jongdae.

His throat clogged up, and his vision started to blur again.

"You haven't been to work in three days, you don't answer your phone, and, above all, you fucking stood me up. Who do you think you are, huh?" Jongdae spat, angry and- and something else, humiliated, probably, but Chanyeol barely listened to him.

"It's you," he croaked, feeling so intensely grateful and safe and not alone anymore that he drew Jongdae into a firm hug.

Jongdae's smaller, but sturdy frame tensed up beneath him, but Chanyeol just held on to him like a lifeline, pressing his cheek into his hair, closing his eyes and reveling in the solid, real feeling.

"Sharp observation, you dimwit," he heard Jongdae comment. "What's this supposed to be when it's done?"

He didn't push him away though, at least not for the longest time, giving Chanyeol a whiff of his sharp, familiar cologne.

"Okay, enough of this," Jongdae finally said, dismissive rather than angry, as he drew away and slipped past Chanyeol, closing the door to give them privacy. He moved with his usual, natural ease, as if this was his home as much as it was Chanyeol's, and at this point, maybe it was.

"What the hell has gotten into you recently?" Jongdae demanded with crossed arms, and something about him tore at Chanyeol's flimsy determination which ripped and crumpled immediately.

"I need help," he whispered, watching the confusion knit up Jongdae's pretty, slanted brows.

"With what?" he asked, straight-forward as ever.

"The mirror," Chanyeol replied, voice still barely containing any color, and Jongdae shook his head in question.

"What?" he asked, voice subconsciously lowering ever so slightly to accommodate Chanyeol's volume.

Chanyeol bit his lip and walked towards his room. He heard the way Jongdae inhaled as he saw the bags and cartons stacking in every corner, containing a good chunk of his belongings. When he stopped in his doorway, Jongdae didn't immediately speak up next to him.

"Chanyeol," he finally began, voice even and slow, almost careful. "What's the meaning of this?"

Chanyeol kept his gaze down, away from the bags, the empty shelves and spray-painted handles of his wardrobe. Away from the big, full length mirror towering in the room, covered by a dark blanket.

"There's someone in the mirror," he muttered, shoulders drawing up as he waited for Jongdae to tell him he's insane, to take him away and to the hospital, where the mirror would be free to snatch him away. For a moment, it was silent.

"Okay," Jongdae trailed off, slowly, quietly even. He crossed the room with cautious steps. Not because he was afraid of the mirror, but because he was afraid of Chanyeol, it was obvious.

Feeling miserable, Chanyeol took a seat on the edge of his bed. He missed the warmth of the other's skin already and was dimly realizing that it was probably the last time he would be allowed to feel it.

Jongdae halted in front of the mirror, shooting a questioning look towards Chanyeol, gauging his reaction as he reached for the fabric. Chanyeol swallowed, slipping to the side so his mirror image couldn’t see him.

After a short pause, Jongdae ripped at the fabric, and Chanyeol flinched.

Jongdae stood there, with the fabric in hand, looking into the mirror with a slightly tilted head. When he began to shake his head, Chanyeol started to panic.

"There are fingerprints," he began in a hushed, defensive voice. "On the inside. There are fingerprints."

After a quick glance, Jongdae turned back to the mirror, scrutinizing it closely. He didn't seem afraid at all, and it was the only thing keeping Chanyeol from spiraling into panic.

There was a confused tick in Jongdae's expression, and then he was rubbing at the mirror with his thumb. He looked slightly bewildered, but still not scared.

"Might be a production error," he shrugged, but it didn't sound condescending. "Maybe you should get rid of it-"

"Is there a red sticky note on the frame?" Chanyeol cut him off. Despite Jongdae being so nice, he _knew_ he was in his reality, but getting rid off the mirror meant getting rid of the confirmation, of the security, and he needed to hear it from someone who wasn't him, someone he could trust-

"This one?" Jongdae asked, holding up a blank, red note, and Chanyeol didn't even know what to do with that information anymore. Something seemed to distract Jongdae, however, as he looked back into the mirror, towards the upper corner. Whatever he saw had his eyes widen subtly, and then he slowly stuck the paper back on the mirror. With calm, measured steps, he walked away from the mirror and towards Chanyeol, who hurried to keep his gaze transfixed to the ground, scared of whatever emotion he might see reflected in Jongdae's eyes.

He felt a palm on his shoulder.

"Let's get out of here, okay?" Jongdae asked, deceivingly calm and quiet. "Pack a bag of clothing, and we'll leave for now-"

Chanyeol didn't hear the rest of the sentence, as he finally dared to look up, eyes wandering up the other's pant legs, belt, dress shirt- and catching a glimpse of his reflection in the other's necklace, which was dangling in front of his face. His mirror image smiled, and Chanyeol hurried to close his eyes.

"Chanyeol?"

Jongdae sounded worried and gentle, rubbing his shoulder, and Chanyeol ripped himself free, staring at Jongdae with wild eyes, taking in the room that was his, and that looked utterly normal - but it hadn't been a dream, none of it was a dream, and he was _not_ going insane-

"The mirror," he gasped, trying to rip himself free, but Jongdae only tugged him into a tight embrace.

"It's all gone now, you can calm down."

It was warm, and nice, and even the cologne smelled the same, but it didn't _feel_ right, and Chanyeol shoved the other away, crawling over to the mirror, frantically running his hands over the frame of it. He saw a hint of feet in a corner, but then it was all gone, and he felt petrified in fear. His mirror image had taken control, and now he knew Jongdae had tried to help Chanyeol. He'd hurt him.

"I need to go back," he whispered, looking into the mirror from every angle he could think of, but he couldn't see anyone at all. When he got to his feet, he saw the red sticky note in the upper right corner. It must have been the unchanging reflection of the corner of the note that had set Jongdae off earlier.

Arms slung around his sides, enveloping him in a gentle hug and steering him away from the mirror.

"Chanyeol, calm down. It's all good now, I got you."

Chanyeol wanted to shrug him off, to keep searching, to keep trying, but he didn't know _how_ , so he just sank to the ground, tears welling up.  
He just didn't know what to do anymore. He had no idea how to force himself back into his own world.

Jongdae was still hugging him, gently stroking his hair as he held him against his chest, his free hand running up and down Chanyeol's back.

It was so, so nice, and if it stayed like that forever, then really, would it be that bad?

If Chanyeol stayed in the mirror, if _he_ became the mirror image, wouldn't that work, too? The other Chanyeol would be happy with Seungwan, and he would be happy with Jongdae. Wouldn't letting go and giving up be the best thing to do?

There was something wrong about that train of thought, though, and it took him a moment to really understand it.

"Jongdae?" he asked, reluctantly holding the other at a distance so he could look him in the eye, blinking away stray tears.

"Yeah?" Jongdae asked patiently.

"Do you love me?"

There was surprise on Jongdae's face, unguarded surprise that made way for hesitation, for an unsure smile, and Chanyeol understood.

He grabbed Jongdae's collar, much to the other's shock, fishing out his silly necklace with the shiny dog tag attached to it. In it, he saw his own face, looking wild, bloody, and shocked to see him - but Chanyeol held his gaze.

 _Get lost,_ he thought firmly, the dog tag digging into his palm. This was _his_ rightful place, and he wanted it back.

His mirror image was glaring at him, everything shaking violently as Jongdae tried to rip himself free, but Chanyeol refused to let go.

He wanted it back, he wanted his own life back, and if this thing could reach through the mirror, then so could he-

He blinked, and darkness enveloped his vision as something roughly slid over his eyes.

Chanyeol gasped for air, feeling a sudden wave of pain. His right cheekbone was burning, and his collar felt wet.

"Jongdae?" he asked, completely disoriented. There was a hand on the back of his neck, and a familiar voice that sounded slightly breathy.

"Better?"

His senses picked up on Jongdae crouching down in front of him. He was sitting on the ground, his back digging into what must be his bed.

"What happened?" he asked shakily, fingers running over the cloth covering his eyes.

"You were more annoying than usual, so I punched you in the face," Jongdae said matter-of-factly. "Maybe don't take that off for now."

"I won't," Chanyeol was quick to reply, and his aimless hand stayed on Jongdae's arm, wandering up to grasp his upper arm, to have some sort of reality to hold on to.

"Thank you," he breathed out, and he heard Jongdae snort.

"Any time, I can guarantee you that much."

Yes, that was his Jongdae - not the one who kindly smiled at him but had nothing exceeding platonic feelings for him. This was Jongdae, the one who had shared a few friendly meals with him and then decided that they shouldn't be friends, that he should glare at him instead, keeping him away for good. The one who never requested a different apartment. The one who would always be nearby to spit insults at him, never moving out of reach.

The one who, despite everything, couldn't help but accept Chanyeol's dinner invitation, because even Jongdae could be weak sometimes.

"Jongdae?" Chanyeol croaked out, his free hand clenching against the floor.

A non-committal hum was all he got in response.

"Do you love me?"

This time he couldn't see the other's expression, and it was killing him. Was he disgusted? Mad? Chanyeol didn't know, and all he heard was a shaky exhale.

"And you think _this_ is an appropriate time for this shit?" Jongdae asked in mild disbelief masking something else, and Chanyeol smiled. Despite the pain, despite the fear still sitting in his bones and the blood dripping down his face, he suddenly felt safe.

He was still smiling when he felt arms resting on his shoulders, bracketing him in, and then he felt lips brushing against his. It was new, but he could tell immediately that this was _right_.

It was slow, almost innocent, and lasted only a few seconds, and a dozen heartbeats.

"We should leave this place," Jongdae hummed against his lips, and Chanyeol blindly leaned in to catch his lips again.  
Jongdae indulged him, if only for a while, before he tugged Chanyeol to his feet and led him out of his room, out of his apartment and into his.

He called it a temporary solution.

Chanyeol already knew that the cloth around his eyes, however, would stay.  
And it did.

It took on different shapes over the years, tricking people into assuming he had lost his sight.

It was a rough time but at least Chanyeol knew who he was, and knew he was home.

And in his darkest moments, when doubts began to eat away at him, Jongdae would drag him into their tiny guest room, light a candle and fall into bed with him before pulling the cloth off his face.

From then on, the only times Chanyeol saw his own reflection was in Jongdae's eyes.

It was the best he had ever looked, anyway. That much he was sure of.


End file.
